A Symphony of Nothing
by Firestorm Nauralagos
Summary: A Joja Co employee suffers. Fun is had by all. Warnings: Depression, dissociation. Cross posted on AO3.


**_A/N:_** **Soooooo I haven't posted anything on this site for years now. Also I haven't been able to write anything fictional for a super long time. This is actually the first fictional thing I've written in awhile. It's garbage but yay for progress I guess? It might stay a drabbley oneshot thing, or I might turn it into a full story eventually if I can figure out a plot.**

 **"Nothing really matters/ Anyone can see/ Nothing really matters to me" Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen.**

She was so incredibly unhappy.

Hundreds of keyboards clacked at hundreds of computers. The dull click click clicks played the same song, over and over and over, the song that would follow them to their graves. Its lyrics went unsung, but they all knew the words that spoke of their slow, agonizing deaths.

She was so unhappy.

Was it the job that stifled her, swallowing individuality and creativity while belching out pain and misery? It had to be this monotonous job, because what else _could_ it be? Why else would every breath be slow and heavy, each movement sluggish as if dragging stone limbs through jello? What other reason was there that everything she loved died at the tips of her fingers?

There was an enormous clock at the far end of the work floor. It was mounted high on the wall so everyone could see it, see how long they had to sit in this claustrophobic warehouse of an office and attempt to work on assignments that were meaningless in the end. The second hand kept time for the song of the click click clicking keyboards- it counted down the time until they could all go home, go to sleep, get up, and start again. One. Two. Three. Click. Click. Click.

She was unhappy.

Once upon a time, she wanted to write- she wanted to spin stories of fairies and mermaids, of wizards and warriors, of the magic she so fervently believed in. For as far back as she could remember, whenever anyone would ask, "I want to be an author when I grow up!" There was life and energy and _magic_ in the world- she could feel it so strongly it would almost tingle on the tip of her tongue. Warmth and light, happiness and love and laughter. Slowly, though, it all withered away, bit by bit, so slowly that it was almost impossible to notice. Slowly her light died out, flickering dimmer and dimmer until one day her pen wouldn't write. Once upon a time, she wanted to write- until she couldn't anymore. Click. Click. Click.

She was-

She was at that job when the call came through- _Your grandfather died last night. His funeral will be this Saturday. I'm so sorry._ The air whooshed out of her lungs as though she'd been punched in the gut. On the other end of the phone line, she heard the telltale sound of being hung up on- click. Almost of its own accord, her head moved to rest against the hard plastic desk- thunk. Her limbs were so heavy- maybe they'd finally turned to stone after all. She could barely feel the rest of her body. She was floating above it, flying, watching the clock tick, tick, tick.

She wasn't able to go to his funeral. Work dragged her back to that desk in the room that slowly shrunk around her as she click, click, clicked her way through paper after paper.

Days passed. Months passed. She had nothing left now- she was an empty husk. The magic and the light had long been gone, but with the death of her grandfather, so died the love and the laughter. It was almost a year before she even had the strength to cry.

The tears fell onto that stack of papers in front of her, the stack that had built up as she struggled to force her arms to work. The sobs came next, forcing her to lean against the desk and bite her hand in an attempt to stay silent, to not interrupt the discordant song. Click click click.

Click click click.

 **Click click** \- Crrrrrreak. Almost no one used the top drawers in the Joja standard desks, and her's stuttered open as she leaned on it. The song was deafening all around her, but when she looked down into the drawer, everything went silent.

There, gathering dust, sat an envelope. It bore her grandfather's seal.


End file.
